


Sleeves

by SmartPeach3



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Body Horror, Erik Has Feelings, Homophobic Language, M/M, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Slurs, Smitten Erik
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2020-10-20 21:35:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20682278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmartPeach3/pseuds/SmartPeach3
Summary: Charles is hiding from a painful past, but when he takes a chance on Erik, he finds all his secrets coming to the surface.





	1. 2008

**Author's Note:**

> Is anyone still reading Cherik fics? I wrote a huge chunk of this fic years ago, but I never had the courage to post it. Let me know in the comments if you would actually like to read this whole fic, and I will post the rest. It is almost finished, and it's approaching 10,000 words. Sorry about the vague summary, but you didn't want spoilers anyway, did you? ;)

Charles Marko wasn’t drunk, but he intended to be. He had it on good authority that he was at his most charming while thoroughly sloshed, and he was definitely going to seduce someone in this bar before the night was out. Thankfully, it didn’t look like he would have to go searching for his target. He felt a tap on his shoulder and then heard a pleasant voice.

“Aren’t you a little young for a place like this?”

Charles turned to see a man in his forties wearing a winning smile. A bit old for Charles’s taste, but the man’s obvious attempt at flattery was endearing.

“You know, I get asked that all the time. I’m older than I look, I promise. I actually just finished my undergraduate work at Oxford, and I’m out celebrating tonight.” Charles probably should have stopped talking after that, explanation complete. However, his sense of propriety was always the first thing to go when he drank. “How about you? Aren’t you a bit old for a place like this?”

The man didn’t look offended, and Charles was relieved when he laughed. “You’re not wrong. Do you have a name?”

“Charles Marko.”

“I’m Sebastian Shaw.”

“Sebastian Shaw? That’s quite debonair. How long did it take you to come up with it?”  
Charles’s words drew another chuckle from Sebastian. “Believe what you want, but it’s not a fake name!”

“Darling, no one is named Sebastian. I’ll give you credit, though; it’s sexy. Very exotic. And, if you buy me a drink, I’ll indulge you. You can be Sebastian all night.”

“Why don’t we just get out of here now?”

Charles was a bit taken aback, but he felt too flattered to dwell on it. “Well, you’re very confident. You know, I could have any of the men in here.”

“Charles, something tells me that you’ve already had all of them.”

Charles didn’t even have the decency to blush. “Oh, it seems my reputation precedes me. Still, I’m going to require that drink. I can’t celebrate sober, Sebastian.” 

Charles felt plenty drunk when they finally arrived at Sebastian’s place. As soon as Sebastian closed the door, Charles grabbed him by the collar and dove in for a kiss, only to be met by a strong hand on his chest, pushing him back. Confused and stunned by the rebuff, Charles was unprepared for the punch that followed. It landed squarely on his jaw, sending him to the ground. A subsequent kick to the side winded him, leaving him momentarily incapacitated.

Sebastian seized that moment, dragging Charles to a nearby doorway and tossing him roughly down the stairs into an unfinished basement. Charles’s skull hit with a nauseating crack against the bottom step, and everything went dark.

…

Charles awoke to find himself stripped to his underwear and tied to a chair, ropes cutting into his wrists and ankles. Dazed, he blinked rapidly under the blue-white fluorescent lights of the dusty concrete basement. He followed his instincts, and, as soon as the room came into focus – he must surely have a concussion – he screamed his lungs out.

After just a few moments, Sebastian thundered down the basement steps, carrying a cell phone and a small black box, the contents a mystery. Within moments, Charles received another hard slap to the face, causing the room to spin again.

Sebastian spoke, and his voice, which had sounded sultry and appealing earlier in the evening, sounded decidedly menacing. “Oh, quit that racket. Who do you think is going to hear you? The basement is soundproofed. Now, get comfortable. We’ll be collaborating on a little video project.”

Charles sneered, putting on a show of defiance that he hoped looked convincing despite the brain trauma. “Oh, sure. Please try to get my good angles. What is this all about?”

“Well, your father, Kurt Marko –”

“Stepfather.” Charles’s voice was ice.

“Fine, stepfather. Your stepfather Kurt is going to receive a video message from me asking for ten million dollars to be wired to my account. I know that sounds like a lot, but I’m sure he’ll see that it’s a small price to pay for his darling baby boy to be returned safely.”

Charles chuckled, displaying more false bravado. “You’re holding me for ransom? Well, take my advice, and set your price low. Much lower than ten million. Kurt is not…inclined to assist me. We have certain disagreements, understand? I’ve been essentially disowned. He doesn’t even pay for my schooling. I’m here on scholarship.”

“Disowned? What, was he not happy to have a little faggot for a son?”

Charles met Sebastian’s eyes, gaze hard. “Exactly that, actually. I see you’re playing fast and loose with the gay slurs now. And to think, you were such a convincing flirt back at the bar. Are you sure some of this homophobia isn’t self-directed?”

Another slap. _Okay, I can see how that provoked him._

“You little shit. Don’t make me gag you too.”

“How did you even know about me, anyway? Kurt doesn’t exactly broadcast my existence to the world.”

“Mr. Marko and I have had some prior business dealings. He’s screwed me over a few too many times. This is the natural result of his unscrupulous behavior.”

“Ah, you’re one of his many cheated business associates. At least that explains the alias. See, a lot of guys use fake names when they pick up boys. I thought you had a wife at home and just didn’t want word to get back to poor Doris that her husband was flirting with boys at a pub. Now I see you thought I’d recognize your real name from some conversation with Kurt. You don’t have to worry on that front, though. Kurt would’ve died rather than talk business with me.”

Sebastian looked suddenly displeased. “Do you ever shut up, Charles? We don’t have time for any more pleasantries. We have a video to make.”

“I’m telling you: Kurt won’t give you the money. If he wouldn’t even give me the cash for a used car, he’s not going to scrounge up ten million dollars for you.”

“I’m sure he’ll change his mind when he thinks about his poor step-son in pain. And permanently disfigured.”

Suddenly, the basement’s cold, stale air felt perfectly still. The danger that Sebastian posed became very real. Sebastian opened the black case he’d brought down the steps, revealing a strange looking device. _A tattoo gun?_

“Please, Sebastian, you don’t need to do anything drastic. We can work something out – ”

“No, my boy, I don’t think we can.”

…

Kurt Marko’s daydreams were interrupted by the nervous voice of his secretary.

“Mr. Marko? The company just received a video message from an anonymous source. I haven’t watched it, but the accompanying email says it’s about your son. I’ve forwarded it to your personal email, and it should be in your inbox.”

Suddenly alert, Kurt asked, “Cain?”

“No, it’s Charles.” 

_That goddamn fairy is still giving me trouble from England? Where do I need to send him to get him out of my hair?_

“Thanks, Lisa. I’ll look at the message.” Lisa looked appeased and returned to her desk.

Kurt played the video, and his gut sank. This was going to involve the police.

A man in a mask spoke in a digitally altered voice.

“Hello, Mr. Marko. I have a few demands. And, if you’re tempted to call the police, please know that Charles here doesn’t need to leave in one piece. I have no qualms about permanently damaging him. In fact, the little pervert is already leaving with one souvenir. Should we show him, Charles?”

The camera panned down to Charles’s pale, exposed chest. Blazoned across his pectorals in thick black ink was the word “FAGGOT.” The skin around the tattoo was traumatized and red, bleeding in some areas.

“Get the money to me soon, Kurt, or the boy’s in for a lot worse than that.”

The clip ended with a close-up on Charles’s face. Sweaty strands of hair stuck to his forehead, but his jaw was locked in obvious fury.

Kurt was suddenly reminded of his last words to Charles. Charles had been seventeen, about to graduate high school, and he had pulled Kurt aside to talk about his plans for the future. He had expressed interest in taking over some of the management of his father’s old company after graduating. Unfortunately for Charles, he had also taken that moment to finally come out to his stepfather after keeping his high school relationships a secret. Kurt made his opinion known.

_If you think I’m sharing even a small piece of this company with a queer, you have another thing coming. You already have my last name because your dear departed idiot of a mother asked me to adopt you, but you aren’t getting anything else from me. You can find your own way to pay for school. I’m not spending another cent on you._

Well, here was his chance to keep that promise. _Not another cent._


	2. The Raise

Erik’s day had begun very well. The unusually hot summer weather had cooled a bit, and the barely competent barista at his regular coffee shop had spelled his name with a “k” without being reminded. Erik should have realized that his luck would run out, but he was instead caught off guard when an obnoxious voice announced the presence of his boss in his office.

“Lehnsherr! I just wanted –” 

“No, Stark.”

“You have no idea what I’m going to say.”

“Yes, I do. I just finished a project. You are here to congratulate me on a job well done and give me a bonus. I politely decline. I don’t even know what to do with the money I already have.”

Erik Lehnsherr was, through no fault of his own, unreasonably wealthy. Fifteen years earlier, he had been assured by his professors and peers that a master’s degree in mechanical engineering would place him comfortably in the upper middle class, able to afford food, shelter, and transportation without dipping into retirement savings. As life would have it, however, a few chance promotions landed him a job as head of research and development at Stark Industries at the age of thirty-six, with just Tony Stark overseeing his work.   
The salary was disgustingly high and actually embarrassed him. Sure, it started out great. Student loan debt disappeared virtually overnight. He could afford an apartment in New York City, and early retirement was a sure bet. He bought a car that he rarely drove, and he even had the cash to park it someplace pigeons wouldn’t shit on it. But, the money quickly got out of hand. He purchased a new home for his mother in Germany and put enough in the bank to send three kids to college, despite being childless. Eventually, he had no choice but to abandon his well-established persona of icy, single-minded efficiency and become what he always feared: charitable.

That’s right. The famously corrupting combination of wealth and power had transformed Erik into a version of himself that he had never envisioned; he was nice. He attended benefit galas and occasionally donated to non-profits. He was the kind of patronizing moneybags who left thousand-dollar tips for stressed waiters. Against his better judgment, he had even started a pay-it-forward chain reaction at a Starbucks by paying for the god-awful, overpriced, white chocolate natural disaster that the next customer seemed to think passed for coffee. 

Anyway. Money had ruined Erik’s mean-guy persona, and he hadn’t forgiven it yet for showing the world that his scowl was a lie.

“Tony, you can’t give me another raise. I gave fifty dollars to a stranger today because he looked sad. I would like to keep my current salary before I become some kind of goddamn saint.”

“First, I think that the phrase ‘goddamn saint’ is blasphemous enough to disqualify you from sainthood. So, you’re safe on that account. Second, I have to give you money. I am an emotionally stunted man-child, and cash is the only way that I can show you my love and appreciation. Ask Pepper.”

“No. I don’t want it. I don’t even recognize myself anymore.”

“Listen, Shark Tank, just do what I do.”

“Hookers and cocaine?”

Tony’s eye roll was nearly audible. “No, not the playboy stuff. The philanthropist stuff. If you don’t want to start your own foundation, then find some charities you’d be willing to throw some cash at. If you need to start small, I know a researcher at NYU who could always use more funding for his projects. He’s only twenty-nine and just starting out with his own research team, and the biology department is a bit stingy with new hires.”

Erik had no reasonable objections. He was apparently a pleasant, altruistic sort of person now, and he had to come to grips with that fact. “Fine, Stark. Give me his contact information, and I’ll help you with your pet biologist.”

Tony fished around in his wallet for what felt like ten minutes, finally recovering a bent business card.

“You won’t regret it, Lehnsherr. Play your cards right, and the college might name a dusty basement library after you. Or even a whole wing of offices for underpaid political science TAs. You never know.”

_Great. Monuments to my kindness._ Erik groaned.


	3. Blue-Eyed Biologist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to those of you who left comments. Be prepared for the constant tone-switching. I've had to come to grips with the fact that my muse has bipolar.

The door to Charles Xavier’s dingy, windowless corner office was already wide open when Erik arrived, a welcoming gesture that was at odds with the room, which was essentially a closet with a cluttered desk. A young man was hunched over a stack of papers, liberally marking them with red pen. He had a lovely profile, but Erik was struck even more by his peculiar choice of clothing. The weather had been approaching ninety degrees every day for a week, but Xavier was probably the most buttoned-up man Erik had ever laid eyes on. His white shirt was snapped to the very top button, and his cuffs were tight around his wrists, like Xavier had never heard of rolling up one’s sleeves. The man even wore a cardigan. _Cold-natured, maybe?_

Realizing that he had been staring for a rather indecent amount of time, Erik rapped his knuckles on the doorframe. “Dr. Xavier?”

Xavier jumped as if awoken from a trance, but he smiled like Erik had just solved global poverty, standing to shake hands. His eyes were very blue.

“Mr. Lehnsherr! Please, call me Charles. I promise I didn’t forget our little meeting, but my TA Hank managed to come down with the flu in July somehow, so I have a bit of extra grading to do. I lost track of the time.” Charles apologized so earnestly that Erik was sorely tempted to smile. He may have actually smirked.

“If I can call you Charles, then you can call me Erik. And, no need to apologize. In my experience, most jobs are just long periods of boredom interrupted by unexpected paperwork. I completely understand. They have you teaching summer classes?”

Handshake complete, Charles gestured for Erik to sit in the rickety chair across from his desk and then made sure to readjust his cuffs, pulling them carefully over his wrists in a move that looked subconscious, almost nervous. However, when he spoke, his tone was just as bright as before.

“Oh, they have me teaching summer classes, evening classes, introductory classes, and really, any class that tenured professors don’t want.” Here, Charles looked a bit sheepish. “Not to put too fine a point on it, but tenure is good for a whole host of things. Like funding. Which, I hope, is where you come in.”

Erik had noticed a little line of ink by Charles’s bottom lip, like he had been chewing absent-mindedly on a pen before Erik arrived. That mental image was almost distressingly cute and stupidly distracting. Erik also felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to wipe at the smudge with his thumb, a gesture that was simultaneously too intimate and too maternal for an acquaintance of less than five minutes. Erik squashed the urge.

“Oh, I have no doubt I can supply the cash if your research is promising. If I don’t find something to do with my money, I will literally go insane.”

Charles chuckled. “Tony told me about your conundrum. You poor thing. Too wealthy, how do you survive it?” There was no malice behind the words. In fact, Charles almost seemed empathetic despite the sarcasm. “You know, Tony would have given some money to the university, but Pepper expressly forbade it. She wants future Potts-Stark children to attend NYU and doesn’t want the public to be able to accuse them of paying for admission.”

“Future Potts-Stark children? Excuse me, Dr. Xavier, but you seem to be suggesting that Tony Stark may eventually become a father, and that is not an eventuality that I am willing to consider.”

Erik was beginning to find Charles’s smile really addicting. 

“Moving on then. I should probably tell you about my work, but, and forgive me for the assumption, I am guessing that you are a novice to the subject of genetic research?”

“Oh yes, Charles. Explain it like I'm a child,” Erik replied.

“Well, then, I’ll speak in layman’s terms. My team intends to study genetic markers for breast cancer in hopes of advancing detection and treatment methods and improving outcomes for patients with certain inherited risk factors.”

His speech sounded well-practiced and completely humble. But, to Erik, it sounded as if this adorable man was meaningfully contributing to the search for a cure for cancer. Suddenly, Charles Xavier was beautiful and brilliant, and Erik was in the presence of an actual saint. An edible saint. Life was confusing. _Oh, great, I’m staring at his lips._ Erik needed to extricate himself from this situation or risk looking like a pervert.

“Well, Charles, I think you’re doing a noble thing and Tony has nothing but praise for you. I want to give your team my full support. Thank you for meeting me today.”

Charles looked a bit surprised and even disappointed by the abrupt end to the conversation, but he recovered quickly and started rifling through some papers on his desk, producing a few brochures. 

“Oh, it was no trouble at all. I was thrilled to meet you! And, please, if you are serious about having money to burn, look into donating to these organizations.” Charles passed the brochures to Erik. They were for local non-profits that worked to support and advocate for survivors of domestic violence and sexual assault. “I refer my students to these groups, and they are doing amazing work.” Charles nodded to a sign on his door, which Erik had missed upon arriving. Next to a rainbow-colored pennant reading “Ally,” there was a certificate that stated:

_I, Charles Xavier, have been trained to speak with survivors of sexual assault and relationship violence. Please ask me for resources to aid in your recovery!_

Okay, that was the final straw. Erik could only resist so much.

“Charles, I don’t usually take the risk of asking out potentially straight men, but I also don’t usually meet perfect people. So, if you are straight, or you find me unattractive, or you’re married or otherwise unavailable, please feel free to ignore this. But, I would love to take you to dinner some time.”

Suddenly, the nervous tic was back. Charles pulled his sleeves carefully over his wrists, looking taken aback. 

“God, Charles, I’m sorry. This puts you in a really awkward position. I promise that the funding is no-strings-attached. I just thought –”

Thankfully, Charles interrupted before Erik could embarrass himself further.

“No, no! I do want to go out with you. I just…don’t even want to admit how long it’s been since I’ve gone on a date.”

Erik grinned, showing far too many teeth. “Is that the only problem? I promise I’ll go easy on you.”


	4. The Call

After letting it ring for what felt like eternity, Raven finally answered the phone.

“Hello?” She sounded a bit groggy.

“Raven, did I just wake you up? It’s one in the afternoon!”

Annoyance seemed to give Raven new energy. “Charles, I don’t need your judgment right now. Why are you calling?”

“Can’t I just be calling to say ‘hi’ to my sister?”

“Precedent says no.”

“All right. I have a problem.”

“You? I would never have guessed.”

“Don’t be sarcastic. It’s a real problem this time. I have a date.” 

Raven took some time to respond. Charles knew that she was probably a little shocked. Charles Francis Xavier was perpetually single. He was absolutely, emphatically out of the dating pool. He would tell anyone who asked.

Taking an audible deep breath, Raven replied. “That’s amazing, Charles. What’s his name?”

“His name is Erik, and I think I should cancel.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“Do I have to remind you that I don’t date? Because, I don’t. Ever.”

“Charles, you have had some tragically bad luck. It’s left you with some personal issues. But, you and I both know that your sex life cannot continue to consist of mutual anonymous handjobs in gay bars in New Jersey. You’re almost thirty. It’s becoming unseemly.”

Charles spluttered. “Raven! I’ll have you know – ”

Sensing that Charles was about to become defensive and high-pitched, Raven interrupted. “Spare me your excuses, please. I know about your double life, Professor. It’s not a big deal. I’m just saying that it sounds like a seriously unsatisfying way to live. Go on a date. Live a little. Grow as a person.”

Charles sighed. “Fine. But, if this doesn’t work out and it sends me back to therapy, I’m holding you accountable.”

“Big brother, if this doesn’t work out, I’ll crush his balls. Now, goodbye. I’m going back to sleep. Love you.” Raven hung up.


	5. The Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay. I was unexpectedly called out of town for a job interview and didn't have time to publish any new chapters. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! In my opinion, this chapter is really weird, and an editor would tell me to cut it. Also, I'm not a doctor, so I'm sorry if this is offensively inaccurate to medically educated people.

Charles arrived at the restaurant at seven thirty on the dot, and the maitre d’ led him to a corner table, where Erik was already seated.

“Thanks for making the reservations. You look dashing.”

Erik grinned broadly. “You don’t look too bad yourself, Charles.” He stood to kiss Charles on the cheek. The skin where Erik’s lips had touched tingled for a moment, and Charles fought down a blush. He noticed Erik’s glance jump down to his wrists and realized that he was tugging at his sleeves again, an old nervous habit. _Keep it together, Charles,_ he scolded himself, finally taking a seat.

“Oh, don’t mind me. I’m just a bit anxious, I suppose. It’s been years since I went on a real date.”

Erik seemed appeased. “Don’t worry about it. I hope you don’t mind, but I got here earlier than I expected and ordered a bottle for the table.” He gestured to an open bottle of red wine and his own half full glass.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I should have told you. I don’t drink. You didn’t need to pay for that.”

Charles almost felt guilty for introducing this new bit of awkwardness, but Erik didn’t look perturbed. “It’s not a problem, Charles. Do you mind if I drink in front of you?”

_Well played, Charles. Now he thinks you’re an alcoholic._

“Oh, no, it’s fine! I don’t have a drinking problem or anything. Well, I may have had a bit of an alcohol dependency when I was young, but I haven’t had a drop since I was twenty. My mother died of liver cancer when I was fifteen, and the doctors said that alcohol and cocaine were probably contributing factors for her. So, I figured that I couldn’t help the family history, but I could cut down on some of my non-genetic risk factors.” Charles suddenly realized that he had divulged a significant amount of unsolicited baggage from his past and was very thankful to be saved by the waiter, who arrived to take their order.

Erik, however, picked up the conversation right where they left off, like he was immune to awkwardness. He even sipped his wine like he could think of nothing more pleasant than discussing family tragedies on a first date. 

“I am sorry to hear about your mother. Did you just quit drinking cold turkey? I’m impressed.”

At that moment, Charles fell victim to his most torturous lifelong affliction: glibness. 

“I suppose that was the hidden blessing in my hepatitis c diagnosis.” Charles paused, wide-eyed, and had to restrain himself before he slapped a hand to his forehead. He could not believe how flippant he just sounded. His mental voice returned for more scolding. _Really? Could you not have phrased that in any other way?_

Erik looked surprised, but then let out a low chuckle. “Sorry, I’m not laughing at you. That would be insensitive. I’m just…really intrigued now. Please explain that.”

Charles was definitely bright pink at this point and couldn’t believe he’d managed to bring up the subjects of parental death and viral illness within five minutes of being seated.

“Alright. When I was twenty, I was in the hospital for…other things, it’s not important now. Anyway, they did some blood tests at the time, and they diagnosed me with hep c. Most people with hep c don’t even know they have it. It’s mostly asymptomatic. But, they were able to start me on treatment right away.” Charles realized he might be venturing down an unfamiliar path for Erik. “Do you know anything about hepatitis c?”

“Only that you can get it from sharing needles.”

_Oh this is really great, Charles. Now, he definitely thinks that you’re an alcoholic AND a heroin addict. Bravo on your first real date in a decade._

“Umm…right. You can really get it any way you might contact infected blood. Even sharing razors might pass it.” Charles tried not to look to sheepish, and he hoped that Erik would assume he had contracted hep c in some boring way. He was definitely not prepared to tell the whole story. “It attacks the liver, and I had hep c for essentially the first half of my twenties, so my doctors advised that I stop drinking just to prevent more liver damage.”

“What is treatment like?” He looked genuinely curious.

“Do you really want to know? This is all pretty heavy for a first date. Do you want to talk about yourself? I’ve been told that I tend to monopolize conversations.”

“Charles, I’m getting buzzed and learning about hepatitis. I can’t think of anything I would rather do with my evening.” He said it through a smirk, but Charles could tell that he meant it.

“Alright, but you asked for it. I was diagnosed in 2008, and the treatment wasn’t as effective as it is now. I had to do nearly a year of oral meds combined with injections, and the side effects were brutal. I felt like I had the flu for forty-eight weeks.”

Erik grimaced. “That sounds horrendous. I’m terrible with the flu. I don’t even get out of bed for a week. My mother used to bring me soup, but she’s still in Germany, so she lives too far away to baby me these days.”

Charles smiled in spite of himself, thinking about how cute sick Erik would be. “It was awful; I even had to put my graduate studies on hold. I just couldn’t keep up with the work. The worst part was that the treatment wasn’t effective. My viral load was virtually unaffected. The treatment only cured about forty percent of patients, and I just wasn’t one of the lucky ones.”

“Wait, so you still have it?”

“Excuse me, do you want to hear the story, or not?” Charles felt gratified when Erik chuckled. “The FDA approved new drugs in 2011 that cut treatment down to twelve weeks with almost none of the side effects. By 2012, I was ‘cured’ for all intents and purposes. I mean, it’s a virus. So, it could always come back.”

“So, you’re healthy now?”

“Fit as a fiddle. In fact, there’s a silver lining. My diagnosis inspired me to explore the medical applications of my area of study. I actually spent part of my graduate career in Arizona with some researchers who were trying to create drugs to minimize the occurrence of rejection in liver transplants. Hep c is the leading reason for liver transplants in this country. I know that the genetics of breast cancer is quite a leap from my early days in a lab in Phoenix studying livers, but I won’t forget my roots.”

“And think, if you manage to cure breast cancer, you can thank your hepatitis diagnosis in your Nobel Prize speech. You know. Because it was such an inspiration to you.” Erik’s face was dead straight, but his eyes were full of mischief.

Charles grinned. “I have never thought of it quite that way before.”

Erik suddenly raised his glass. “I propose a toast: To hepatitis c indirectly curing breast cancer!”

Charles looked around the restaurant, seeing some confused faces. But, he couldn’t help but play along. He clinked his water glass against Erik’s wine and replied, “Hear, hear! To hep c!”

The food happened to arrive at that very second, and Erik looked like he was about to pass out from laughing at the very confused waitstaff.


	6. Hot and Cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again for the delay between posts. Just a heads up, we're back to the dark and dramatic tone, and we earn our mature rating. Enjoy.

Erik was thrilled. The food was excellent. Charles was excellent. He had managed to put a hand on Charles’s thigh during dessert, and Charles hadn’t told him to stop being handsy in public. He had just glanced up at him through those ridiculous eyelashes and looked coy. And edible.

When they finally left the restaurant, Erik was prepared to call it a perfect evening. Sure, it started off a little awkward and stilted. But, as far as first dates go, having a genius medical researcher as a conversation partner is a good start. But, then Charles said something unexpected.

“You know, I haven’t dated in a while, but I have been known to put out on the first date.”

Erik almost choked on his own saliva. _Way to play it cool, Erik._

“Is that a fact, Xavier?” 

“Well, for the right guy.”

What could Erik say? He wasn’t opposed to moving a little fast.

“Your place or mine?”

“I’m guessing that yours is nicer. I seem to recall that you’re rolling in cash.” Charles actually winked, and it was probably the cutest thing that Erik had ever seen.

They soon arrived at Erik’s apartment, and Charles barely gave Erik time to close the door before he was kissing him. And, Erik decided almost immediately that kissing Charles was the best thing he had ever done. Charles kissed like he had been dying to do it, like he hadn’t done it in years. Charles curled his fingers in his hair and walked Erik backwards into the living room, pressing the backs of Erik’s legs into the sofa until he took a seat.

Erik had thought he would offer Charles some coffee, but this was apparently going to get heated fast, so he just asked, “What do you want, Charles?”

Charles’s eyes darkened. He snatched a pillow from a nearby armchair and tossed it to the floor in front of Erik, quickly kneeling on it.

“I want to get my mouth on you.”

Erik wasn’t about to protest, and he watched as Charles’s hands fumbled with his belt. If only Charles weren’t wearing so many clothes. He was tempted to do something about it, but he didn’t want to deal with all those goddamn buttons!

Charles fished something out of his back pocket, and Erik saw it was a condom.

Suddenly, the confident Charles looked a bit bashful, but he asked anyway. “Do you mind if I use this for oral? I know it’s a…bit overkill. I just. You can’t be too careful, right?”

Erik moved a hand to Charles’s hair. “Charles, you’re on your knees for me. You can do whatever you like. I promise; I’m already more than happy.”

Charles smiled, and he was so beautiful, and that was probably the last coherent thought that Erik had before his mind devolved into fragments like _his mouth_ and _so good._

Erik came back to Earth slowly, but he felt Charles tuck him back into his pants and close his belt. He snagged Charles’s collar and dragged him up for a kiss. Charles indulged him, but then pulled away.

“Umm..Erik? Where can I dispose of this?”

_Right. Condom._

“Bathroom trashcan, down the hall. Here, I’ll show you. If I can get my legs to work.” Charles looked smug. _Bastard._

Erik kept a hand on Charles’ lower back as they walked down the hall, and as soon as Charles tossed the condom, the kissing resumed. Erik suddenly needed to see this man’s skin, to give him the same sort of high that he’d given Erik. Erik pressed Charles against the bathroom wall, mouthing at his neck while trying to untuck his shirt and slide a hand across his stomach.

Charles’s hands seized his wrists, and even though Charles was quiet, the gesture screamed for Erik to stop.

And Erik did stop, like he’d hit a brick wall, because Charles’s hands were actually _shaking._

Erik looked into Charles’s wide eyes. “Hey, Charles? What is it? We can stop. I just…wanted to return the favor.”

Charles looked like he was about to panic. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I thought I could. I’ve been talking myself up all night.”

“What? We don’t have to do anything. It’s the first date, Charles. You barely know me. You did all the talking, remember?” Unbidden, Erik thought of the brochures that Charles had given him when they’d first met. They were full of information on support organizations for sexual assault survivors. _They are doing amazing work_, Charles had said. Erik wondered just how personally those organizations had helped Charles.

Charles still looked like he was deciding whether to run or be sick, so Erik continued. “Okay, we’re going to sit on the couch and discuss this like adults.” He led Charles back to the living room, stopping by the kitchen to get him a glass of water.

Erik placed Charles on the couch and kneeled in front of him, a surreal reversal of their positions from thirty happy minutes ago. Charles was still shaky, but now it was Erik’s turn to feel a bit sick.

“Listen, Charles, I wasn’t trying to pressure you into anything.” He looked at Charles pleadingly. “And, I don’t know how to ask this any other way, so I’ll just say it. Did you actually want to suck me off?”

The question seemed to shock Charles into alertness. “Oh, you don’t think – of course! I couldn’t have drummed up that kind of enthusiasm if I didn’t.” Erik smiled. That sounded more like the Charles he was getting to know. “This is going to sound crazy, Erik, but I just need to keep my clothes on tonight.”

Erik sighed, relieved. “Whatever you want, Charles. Like I said, it’s the first date. I wasn’t expecting anything. We’re not teenagers. I can wait.” He straightened up and then sat beside Charles on the sofa, throwing an arm over his shoulders. They sat in silence for a while before Erik noticed that Charles’s breaths were slowing.

“Charles? Where do you plan on sleeping tonight?”

“Here. I should think that would be obvious.” Charles voice was muffled against Erik’s shoulder. Again, very cute.

“You don’t have any clothes here. Or a toothbrush.”

“I don’t really care.”

“Okay. Charles?”

“Hmmm?”

“Do you remember telling me that you were nervous about this date because it had been so long?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you possibly mean to say that you had some pretty significant issues with intimacy that we might have to work through as a couple?”

“Something like that, yes.”

“Oh, great. Thanks for letting me know before you scared me or we crossed some sort of boundary you weren’t ready to cross.”

Thankfully, Charles took the teasing in the spirit in which it was intended and chuckled into Erik’s shirt. “You’re welcome. I would hate to shock you, sweetheart.”


	7. The Calm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, everyone! Sorry for the long wait.

Charles hadn’t woken up in a strange bed in about a decade, and he had certainly never done it without a hangover. Or clothed. So, he was naturally surprised the next morning when he found himself in a bed much nicer than his own. He made a drowsy snow angel in the one-thousand-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets before realizing what that meant: Erik must have carried him from the couch. _After the embarrassing emotional meltdown._ Charles groaned into a pillow.

Charles padded to the en-suite bathroom to freshen up. After swishing some mouthwash he found under the sink, he looked himself over in the mirror and declared his disastrously wrinkled attire unsalvageable. The makeup covering the ink near his lip had also been wiped off in the night, but Charles suspected Erik didn’t keep foundation in the medicine cabinet, so he shrugged it off. It was hardly noticeable.

Charles expected to find Erik on the couch, sleeping with his neck turned at an uncomfortable angle just to ensure that his guest would have the luxury of the bed. However, the apartment appeared to be empty. A note on the fridge announced in painful handwriting that Erik had gone to the gym, that fresh coffee was in the pot, and that Charles could wait for Erik to return or just leave, at his discretion. Charles might have left, but he was only halfway through his cup of coffee when Erik arrived, looking sweaty and far too smiley for a man who had slept on a sofa and had left an emotional invalid in his house.

“Good to see you awake!” Erik said cheerfully.

“Good to see you in gym shorts,” Charles replied. Erik barked out a laugh.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Obviously. Your bed is a cloud.”

“It’s a Tempur-Pedic.”

“Oooh, you’re quite the high roller.”

“What can I say? I’m a big spender when it comes to the creature comforts.” Erik looked thoughtful for a moment. “Why don’t you wait for me to take a quick shower and then we can grab lunch?”

Charles glanced around for a clock. “Lunch!? What time is it?”

Erik looked amused. “It’s noon, Charles.”

“Uggh. I can’t go out looking like this, Erik. I don’t have clothes here.”

“You look adorable. I like the rumpled look. Also, we should really talk. You know, about actual first date stuff. Family, likes, dislikes. Maybe even boundaries, you never know.”

“What if one of my boundaries is talking about my feelings?”

“Charles.” Erik feigned exasperation.

“Fine, but you’re paying for my food.”

…

That was how Charles found himself in a casual bistro wearing the same clothes that he had worn the previous evening, seated across from a perfect male specimen. Said specimen was enjoying a BLT and seemed completely oblivious to the fact that his date looked like a vagrant.

“So, Charles. What’s your family like?”

“Ummm…my family is one of my dislikes.” Charles pulled awkwardly at his sleeves. Erik looked encouraging, though, so he continued. 

“I’m estranged from my step-father. He threw me out when I told him I was gay.” Erik frowned, so Charles hastened to add, “Don’t make that face; it’s not all bad. My step-sister is great. Her name is Raven, and she’s a few years younger than me. She travels a lot for work, but next time she’s in town, I’ll be sure to introduce the two of you.”

Erik looked like he was about to ask something, but his phone rang suddenly. Checking the caller ID, he said, “Speaking of family, Charles, my mother is calling. Give me a second to answer this?” Charles nodded. Curious, he listened and tried to piece together the other half of the conversation from Erik’s responses. 

“Hi, Mama. Well, I’m a bit busy at the moment. No, a date. Yes, with a man. Charles. How should I know? Oh, all right, hang on.” Erik covered the mouthpiece on the phone and asked, “Are you Jewish?”

Charles shook his head, confused. Erik thanked him and returned to his call.

“No, he isn’t Jewish. Ma, if you can handle me dating a man, you can deal with the fact that he isn’t Jewish. No, I won’t ask him to convert. Mama, this is the second date; I won’t discuss how we’re raising our children until at least the fifth date. Yeah, I’ve gotta let you go. Yes, the food just arrived. Talk to you later. Love you. Bye.” Erik turned to Charles. 

“Sorry about that.”

“You’re Jewish?”

Erik waved his hand dismissively. “Kind of secular. Don’t tell my mother about this BLT. She would be disappointed, and what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” Erik seemed to notice that Charles looked a bit sick.

“What is it, Charles? Please don’t tell me that you’re anti-Semitic because I hate when bigots are handsome.” Erik’s tone was joking, but his smile fell when he noticed that Charles only looked more horrified.

“No! It’s just, I have these tattoos…”

Erik offered a relieved smile, but it couldn’t assuage the sinking feeling in Charles’s gut. “Charles, I don't believe tattoos go against the Torah. I mean, some people think that, but you just saw me eat bacon. I don’t even pay attention to rules like that. I certainly don’t go around telling people what to do with their bodies. Hell, I’m sure your tattoos are sexy.”

Charles felt like someone punched him in the stomach. He had vertigo and sweaty palms and dry mouth, and he had to focus to keep from hyperventilating. Erik noticed.

“Woah, okay, that was clearly the wrong thing to say. Charles, what’s the matter?” Erik’s voice was tinged with panic.

Charles pulled himself together, slapped money on the table, and dragged Erik from the restaurant.

“Charles, my apartment is the other way!”

Charles swallowed loudly, but when he spoke, his voice was steadier than he expected.

“We’re going to my place. We need to clear some things up, right now. Otherwise, this relationship will be like walking through a minefield. You wanted to discuss boundaries?” Charles laughed, a little maniacally. “I may have a few.”


	8. The Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please please check the tags; this is a tough chapter. If you think I missed a tag, let me know!

This was really not how Erik envisioned being invited back to Charles’s apartment. He had fantasized that Charles would be less…eerily quiet. And less deathly pale. 

Reality aligned with Erik’s fantasies in one way: Charles dragged him straight to the bedroom. The room was cluttered with stacks of books and laundry, and it might have been cozy if the mood weren’t quite so uneasy. Charles gestured for Erik to sit on the bed and then began pacing nervously.

When Erik sat, the springs in the mattress released audible squeaks and groans.

Erik attempted levity. “Wow, Charles. Might I recommend a Tempur-Pedic?”

Charles chewed a fingernail, but he replied, “I’ll take that under advisement.” Suddenly, Charles was undoing the top button of his wrinkled shirt.

“Charles, stop! You don’t have to do that.”

“We’re not having sex, Erik. Don’t freak out,” Charles said through gritted teeth. He continued with the buttons on the dress shirt, revealing a white undershirt with an equally high neckline.

“Why would that freak me out?”

“Oh, hush. You might just find out.” When Charles finished with the buttons on his shirt, he moved to shrug it off, but then seemed to think better of it, turning his attentions instead to his belt.

The whole situation felt like some kind of demented strip tease, but Charles looked determined, so Erik let him continue. As Charles pushed down his trousers, Erik expected to see milky pale skin. Instead, he was shocked to see…ink. Miles of it. Charles kicked off his pants, standing in his shirt and underwear and looking like a man before a firing squad.  
Some of the tattoos could have been explained away by a lost bet or a silly dare. On his left calf, Charles had what looked like a drawing any schoolboy could have done of a cock and balls. It was the kind of thing college students draw on each other’s faces with permanent marker when one poor freshman falls asleep at a party.

But, these tattoos weren’t silly. They were degrading. Some of them looked like they were designed purely to ruin skin or to cause pain. The skin on Charles’s right thigh was almost completely covered in long black scratches, drawn so carelessly that they wove a pattern of badly healed scars.

Erik opened his mouth to speak, but he again found himself shushed by Charles.

“Would you please just let me finish?” Charles said, sounding exasperated.

Erik nodded, and Charles finally removed his shirts, first letting the button-down fall carelessly from his shoulders to the floor and then grabbing the hem off the undershirt and pulling it quickly over his head.

If anything, the tattoos only got worse. Charles’s skin was littered in obscenities, with the biggest and boldest in the center of his chest, reading “FAGGOT.” Other smaller tattoos proclaimed him a slut, a fairy. 

The ugliest tattoos were the ones that felt the most out-of-place on Charles’s body. They were hateful tattoos, like a thick-lined, black swastika on the left bicep. The lightning bolts of the SS carved across the ribcage, on a forearm. Seeing them on a good, sweet man like Charles was almost disorienting.

Bare to the world and clearly expecting judgment, Charles stood with his arms slightly extended and his head tilted down.

“Charles…How did you get these? They look like…prison tattoos?”

Charles chuckled humorlessly, but he looked up. “Not exactly, though it felt like a prison. Do you remember the Marko kidnapping case, back in 2008?”

2008\. Erik had been 26, busting his hump as a newly fledged engineer. But, he did recall something about the case. It was news from across the pond, but it was the kind of story that produced provocative headlines, so it caught global media attention.

“I remember something about Marko’s son being held for ransom? They caught the guy who did it, though, I remember that for sure.”

Charles’s mouth formed a tight line. “Stepson. I’m his stepson.”

Realization crashed over Erik. Unbidden, his mind gathered up old news stories about the kidnapping, complete with photos of a very young Charles on the courthouse steps, next to a pleased lawyer celebrating her victory. Headlines came to mind. 

_Marko Testifies in Terrifying Torture Case_

_Klaus Schmidt Sentenced 25 Years for Kidnapping, Torture of Charles Marko_

Erik finally spoke, almost at a whisper. “You’re Charles Marko?”

Charles reached for his clothes again, keen to cover up. He explained calmly as he re-dressed. “I _was_ Charles Marko. I took my father’s name again after the trial. Everyone knew my name at that point; they knew most of the details of the worst time in my life. I didn’t like the publicity. I changed my name to fly under the radar. Besides, I hardly wanted to be a Marko after Kurt let me rot in a basement for three months.”

“But, it was a torture case. A kidnapping case. Nobody said anything about tattoos; I would have remembered.”

Charles grimaced. “I didn’t want the details released to the public. The tattoos were the torture. At first, he was using them to goad Kurt. He thought that if he sent enough images of me in pain, bleeding from the tattoo gun, then Kurt would give in and send him the money. It didn’t work, though. Eventually, he was just taking his frustration out on my body.”

Finally finished dressing, Charles sat on the edge of the bed, his thigh touching Erik’s.

“I never would’ve gotten those tattoos on my own, please believe me. The Nazi crap. He just…Klaus wanted me to hate my own body, to lose control over it. I don’t even think he was a Nazi. He just drew the most disgusting things he could think of.”

Erik clasped Charles’s hand with his own. “I know, Charles. I’ve only known you for a few days, but I can see the kind of person you are. You’re not a bigot.”

Charles suddenly sighed and flopped back on the bed. “I’m so glad you know now.”

“Really?”

“Really. It’s so freeing. I mean, I haven’t even been naked in front of somebody in a decade.”

Erik turned to look at him, shocked. “You haven’t had sex in a decade?”

“You’re twisting my words. I said I haven’t been naked in front of somebody. I’ve had plenty of sex. It was just mostly clothed handjobs in dark alleys or unreciprocated oral sex. If you wear your clothes tight enough, people tend not to notice that you won’t take them off. And drunk men don’t want to reciprocate anyway.”

Erik suddenly thought of their night together, almost exactly the situation Charles was describing. He didn’t want to become one of Charles’s selfish flings. 

“You have to let me get you off.”

Charles chuckled. “Oh, Erik, you’re not like them. We’ll get there someday.”

“Someday soon?”

“Maybe. I’m starting to realize that I may have a few intimacy issues to work out.” At that admission, Erik chuckled dryly.

Charles gave him a shove. "Oh, shut up."


	9. Luck

“This isn’t working, Charles.”

Charles was huddled in the corner of the basement, his feet tied together and his arms tied behind his back. He suspected that the binds were unnecessary at this point. After weeks of torture, his body had grown so weak that he doubted he could stand. Sebastian had become increasingly violent with every passing day. Nearly his entire torso was covered in ink, with some tattoos carrying well down his arms. The worst were his thighs, where his torturer had used the tattoo gun like a knife, slicing into the skin in his rage. The wounds were obviously infected, swollen and white with pus.

“I thought that, after the last video, surely your stepfather would come to his senses.”

Sebastian had said the same thing after every video. Charles knew better than to think that he was still hoping for the ransom after all this time. Sebastian was just playing with his food, enjoying this game until Charles succumbed to infection.

“You’re not looking too good these days, Charles. So far from that slut who couldn’t wait to come home with me three months ago.” There was a sick gleam in Sebastian’s eye at this point. “I think it might be time for one last video.”

Charles thought that he had become desensitized to the sound of the gun at this point, but as Sebastian walked toward him, it was more menacing than ever, the pitch of it almost painful to hear, like nails on a chalkboard. Sebastian stooped down, crouching over Charles’s form. He reached his left hand out and grabbed Charles roughly by the hair, pulling his head back at a sharp angle.

“Oh, Charles. Look at you. Almost completely ruined. _Almost_.”

A bit too slowly, Charles understood what Sebastian intended to do. Certainly not fast enough to react before the needle bit into the skin just below his lip. Sebastian was blazing a new trail, destroying the only skin that was still pristine. Even after months of this treatment, something about this new assault – on his face, his _identity_ – created a visceral reaction in Charles. He swung his legs up, aiming a kick to Sebastian’s groin. He missed, but he still managed to sweep Sebastian’s right leg, forcing him to fall backwards, his head cracking loudly on the floor.

To Charles’s shock, Sebastian stayed down, clearly knocked unconscious by the fall. Charles had fought back a thousand times, but this one desperate kick had finally brought down his tormentor. His mind swirled with possibilities. Could he remove his bindings? Escape up the steps and run through the house to the street? Even with the adrenaline coursing through his system, the months of captivity had weakened him too much. Instead, he dragged himself over to Sebastian, praying that the man would remain unconscious for as long as possible. Arms behind his back, he fished out a phone from Sebastian’s pocket and started dialing blind. When he heard the tone, he laid the phone on the floor, pressing his ear to it.

“Emergency services. What’s your emergency?”

…

Voices floated through Charles’s mind.

“We have a young man, maybe 20 years old, badly dehydrated, with what looks like infections from multiple open wounds. He’s woozy, but his blood pressure’s not dangerous.” 

He heard someone hiss through their teeth.

“Holy shit!”

“I know. We checked him in the ambulance; he’s absolutely covered.”

“Alright, let’s clean him up, monitor his vitals, and get an IV going. And then test for every infection known to man because this doesn't look pretty."

Charles, beginning to realize that they might be talking about _him_, cracked one eye.

“Oh, there he is! Don’t worry, you’re gonna be just fine. Can you tell me your name?”


	10. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't sleep, so I decided to finish this thing. I hope you all enjoy it.

A few months into their relationship, Charles brought up his plan with Erik. 

“I want to cover up the tattoos.”

Erik looked skeptical, maybe a little amused. “Charles, you won’t have any skin left if you do that.”

“Not _all_ the tattoos, obviously. Just the ones that would get me thrown out of a water park.”

“Oh? Are you planning on wearing just a swimsuit in public?”

Charles tugged at his long sleeves. Old habits die hard. “Okay, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. But, I still want to do it. The cover-ups, I mean.”

So, Erik joined him at consultations with different tattoo artists. Every single one said the same. _Nothing could cover that. Too much black. Unless you want an eight ball._

So, that’s what Charles got. An eight ball. And a top hat. Every ridiculous, cliché cover-up idea in the book was somewhere on his body. He was afraid that he might not be able to sit for the tattoos and that the noise from the machine would send him back, mentally, to that basement. But instead, every pass of the needle felt like healing.


End file.
